Chapter 139: Breakfast

Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Nine
Breakfast

Again, worshiping only the moon and showing no reverence for the Goddess?

Klein could not help revealing a thoughtful expression.

The last time he had heard of something similar was when he had been learning about the Life School of Thought. He had never expected that a Witch King who had been born, grown old, fallen ill, and died on the Southern Continent would hold a similar view.

After the Pale Era at the end of the Fourth Epoch, the Berserk Sea became worthy of its name. The Northern and Southern Continents were cut off from each other and no longer had contact. Meanwhile, the Life School of Thought had taken shape in the early Fifth Epoch. It clearly could not have developed onto the Southern Continent before Roselle sent people to discover a safe sea route.

Witch King Karman also belonged to the early period. The era in which he was active was more than a thousand years before the countries of the Northern Continent invaded.

In other words, two Beyonder “powers,” each belonging to a different continent and unable to communicate or interact, had both chosen, at roughly the same period, to worship the moon itself while ignoring the Evernight Goddess.

A coincidence like that made one unable to avoid considering why.

Could a new deity have been born and taken away some of the authority related to the moon? But as a deity, He should not be so utterly unknown… Or rather, although the Goddess seized the moon’s authority, the believers of the Primordial Moon God managed to survive, passing their beliefs down from the Fourth Epoch—or perhaps even the Third Epoch—until, after the Northern and Southern Continents were separated, they blossomed into two branches: one as the Witch King, the other as the Life School of Thought?

Klein roughly made several guesses, but lacking corresponding clues, he had no way to narrow the possibilities.

He temporarily abandoned that line of thought and seized the time to rapidly browse the later contents of the Book of Secrets.

In the preface, Witch King Karman stated very directly that many of the rituals, secret pacts, astrological methods, and summoning arts in this book originated from primitive moon worship. He also described the corresponding honorific name in detail:

“The one and only red moon, symbol of life and beauty, mother of all spiritual forces.”

There is actually an honorific name! But it lacks the more common, popularized descriptions like “Evernight Goddess” or “Earth Mother”… If such a hidden deity truly exists, then among His believers, a simpler title more suited for spoken praise would inevitably develop, rather than using “primitive moon worship” as a substitute…

Klein noticed something strange and began analyzing it with his own mysticism knowledge.

“And if one uses ‘Lord of Crimson’ to conduct a ritual, it will very clearly point toward the Goddess. But by using an honorific name that is extremely similar yet more refined and detailed, one can bypass the Goddess and point toward the source of their power, toward that so-called Primordial Moon… I wonder what kind of bizarre existence it really is…”

Klein thought with both curiosity and faint horror.

Because he did not have much time, he only skimmed quickly through the specific contents afterward. He discovered that, just as Witch King Karman had described, many secret pacts and many rituals pointed toward the moon.

For Klein, that was not something he needed to pay too much attention to. He would not copy those things directly and provoke whatever unknown thing the Primordial Moon might be. What he wanted to learn was the overall structure, design logic, and detailed handling of those secret pacts and rituals.

Only by grasping the rules hidden within could he create secret pacts, rituals, astrological methods, and summoning arts of his own—ones pointing toward the King of Yellow and Black.

Perhaps, after a very long time, I will possess an integrated system of mysticism that belongs to me…

Klein removed the spirit pendulum from his wrist and made one final confirmation of the Book of Secrets’ authenticity.

After receiving an affirmative answer, he did not rush to use the Werewolf Beyonder characteristic to divine the formula. In any case, he did not plan to sell it. By the same logic, he decided to postpone studying the Biological Toxin Bottle’s origin for a while.

He quickly returned to the real world and opened the curtains. What entered his eyes was the sun that failed to illuminate the earth. It hid behind clouds and smog, looking somewhat pale.

“Achoo!”

All of a sudden, Klein covered his mouth and nose with his hand and sneezed.

Only then did he realize that his head ached and felt hot, that he lacked energy, and that he seemed to have caught a cold.

As a Sequence 7 Beyonder, I actually got sick…

Klein drew out a sheet of paper and blew his nose.

After carefully recalling the situation, he quickly understood the reason.

The Biological Toxin Bottle’s negative effect was to make its holder gradually weaken and develop illness!

If carried for even longer, it might even cause death by disease.

And this was not something a Spirituality Cage could remove!

Last night, after the great battle, when Klein’s spirituality had been almost drained and his body had been weakened by poison, he had still carried the Biological Toxin Bottle while hiding inside Lever Church for half an hour…

Added to the time spent returning to Minsk Street, he had shamefully fallen ill.

“Thank goodness it’s not serious… It won’t affect much…”

Klein sneezed again, tidied up, then went to take a hot bath.

After washing up, he decided to reward himself and specifically fried an egg, filling the air with fragrance.

“A Witch King’s Book of Secrets, a magical item no worse than the Sun Brooch—the Biological Toxin Bottle—and a Sequence 7 Werewolf Beyonder characteristic… This time I made quite a lot. It’s just a pity I couldn’t get the Living Corpse Beyonder characteristic…”

Klein sat at the dining table, eating while calculating his gains.

Another thing that made his heart ache was that he had used a full eleven Beyonder bullets. Each one was worth close to ten pounds!

In other words, I burned through around a hundred pounds… I literally smashed someone with money… No wonder most low- and mid-Sequence Beyonders crave money so badly…

Klein lowered his head and glanced at his breakfast.

All of it added together only cost a few pennies!

After breakfast, Klein leisurely read the newspapers, occasionally sneezing and wiping his mouth and nose with paper.

The church bell marking eight o’clock had only just faded when his doorbell rang.

As expected, Klein saw Mike Joseph, reporter from the Daily Observer.

The reporter with beautiful blue eyes, two thin moustaches, and rather rough skin removed his hat in greeting, then got straight to the point.

“Detective Moriarty, do you have time to accept my commission?”

Although I have a bit of a cold, taking normal commissions during this period will make me look less suspicious…

Having just pulled off a major job, Klein smiled and said, “I am mildly ill, but it will not affect my fighting or shooting.”

Mike immediately revealed a smile.

“Thank you for your help.”

“Let us set out now.

“Er, Detective Moriarty, have you eaten breakfast? My treat. As your employer, I ought to be responsible for your food today.”

You’re treating me to breakfast?

Klein froze briefly.

“I just finished eating.”

“But I suggest you have breakfast in the East Borough instead. That way, you will be able to see many things. When the time comes, a cup of coffee will be enough for me.”

“…No problem.”

Mike pointed outside.

“The carriage I hired is waiting.”

Klein looked him up and down and said, “Sir, you had better dress a little worse. Otherwise, my work will become extremely busy.”

Mike lowered his head and looked at his woolen coat, understanding something.

“This is too conspicuous?”

“In the East Borough, yes.”

Klein pointed inside.

“I have some clothes prepared especially for such situations. Mm, we are about the same build.”

Mike could not help praising him.

“You truly are professional.”

Professional at crime?

Klein silently mocked himself.

After changing outfits and becoming ordinary workers, the two boarded the carriage and headed toward the edge of the East Borough.

…

“Achoo!”

Klein once again drew out a sheet of paper, wiped his mouth and nose, and blew out some mucus.

Because there was no trash bin nearby, he folded the paper and placed it back into his pocket.

“The food in this café is passable. Of course, that is compared with the living standards of East Borough residents.”

Klein pointed toward the somewhat greasy café at the street corner.

When he occasionally stayed in the one-bedroom apartment nearby, he had come here several times for breakfast.

“It seems it already counts as one of the better restaurants here.”

Mike clearly did not regard that place as a café.

It was already past nine, and the café had very few customers. Residents of the East Borough usually finished breakfast around seven and began working or searching for work.

After accompanying Mike to order beef and potato stew, bread, coffee, and other foods, Klein swept his gaze around, searching for a seat by the window.

At that moment, he saw an acquaintance—the middle-aged man he had helped before while pretending to be a reporter.

He was the one who first brought me here… Why is he only eating breakfast now…

As the thought flashed through Klein’s mind, he said to Mike, “You have an interview subject.”

As he spoke, he carried his cup of coffee and walked toward that “vagrant.”

The man still wore the same thick jacket as before. His slightly graying hair looked rather greasy, and his beard was quite obvious. However, the weariness between his brows and eyes from last time was gone, and his complexion was no longer so bluish-white and frightening.

“Good morning. We meet again.”

Klein sat opposite him, greeted him, and discovered that the man’s breakfast consisted of black bread and cheap tea sold at one pence for a large cup.

The middle-aged man lifted his head, looked carefully, and opened his mouth in pleasant surprise.

“Mr. Reporter, it’s you?”

…

Klein gave two dry laughs and pointed at Mike beside him.

“This is my colleague. He wants to conduct a deeper investigation into my previous interview.”

Mike was an experienced, worldly reporter. Hearing this, he did not say anything unnecessary. He merely nodded with a smile and greeted the man.

As for Detective Moriarty pretending to be a reporter, it was not as if he had only learned of it today. The other party had even borrowed a fake press certificate from him before!

“So you really are a reporter!”

The middle-aged man blurted out in astonishment.

“But that does not change the fact that you are a kindhearted, good person.”

Klein smiled and asked in return, “How have you been recently?”

The middle-aged man took a sip of tea and said, “With your help, I was finally able to sleep properly, eat my fill, and stop being so weak.

“At first, I wanted to find the same kind of work I used to do—shoemaking—but they didn’t want me. They said my hands shook…”

He lowered his head and laughed once, skipping over that part.

“Afterward, I went to the docks and found some work there. It’s very tiring, but at least there is money to earn. I’ve already rented a floor space in someone’s home. It only costs 6.5 pence a week. Of course, I can only sleep there at night.

“Er, that’s how dock work is. I went very early today without eating anything. I stood there raising my hand, loudly shouting my name and the foreman’s name, but still wasn’t chosen. So I had no choice but to come back here.

“Fortunately, there will still be a chance in the afternoon. The people who got picked in the morning may have to work until very late, so they won’t be competing with us.”

Klein listened quietly, occasionally drinking a mouthful of poor-quality coffee. Mike, meanwhile, took out paper and pen and began swiftly taking notes.